


The Boy Who Leapt Through Time

by partofforever (edvic)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Gryffindor Harry, How Do I Tag, Love/Hate, M/M, Non-Canon Relationship, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Hogwarts, Pre-Hogwarts, Riddle at Hogwarts Era, Romance, Slow Build, Slow To Update, Slytherin Harry, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Smart Harry, Teacher Harry, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 19:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4111681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edvic/pseuds/partofforever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter, known also as The Savior of Wizarding World, is trying to arrange a new life in the post-war reality. It's not as easy as you might think, especially when you come across a whole cluster of Slytherins, a lover of lemon drops and a certain young sorcerer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Late Passenger

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you'll follow this story with joy. The action takes place after "Deathly Hallows"; I skipped the epilogue.

 

"Do we really have to do this?", Ron sighed when - clearly lingering - he packed his trunk to a car he purchased just a few weeks ago. "We're heroes after all!"

"Ron!", Hermione huffed indignantly. She was already sitting in the passenger's seat. "What will you tell our... __your_ _ children, when they ask how many NEWTs did you get?"

"He will say that when he was their age he was camping all year long with Harry Potter". From the front door of a London's tenement they rented an apartment in, came Harry's voice.

Ron opened the trunk and again, ignoring the curious stares of pedestrians passing by, he packed another suitcase and cage with Ludolf, Harry's new owl, which he bought some time ago after coming to the conclusion that continued use of the postal owls is not only impractical, but also exposes him too frequently to people's eyes.

Yes - since the end of the war seeing people has become extremely burdensome for The Chosen One. He tried not to contact with anyone outside the close circle of friends. This meant more or less that since May he talked mainly with Ron and Hermione, because they lived together, the Weasleys, because he often visited them and some colleagues from school - especially Neville and Luna. Other magical humans - once they saw him on the horizon - responded in several very different ways. Some were politely coming up to shake his hand and these were the least harmful (though after meeting fifty of such people on his way to the grocery store Harry was really going crazy). Moreover, when he was _just_ The Boy Who Lived, he had to learn how to deal with such behavior. He tried to be nice and gentlemanly, humble and smiling. He didn't accept gifts, though at times he was offered some very interesting and expensive items and services - just yesterday a hunched gray-haired man offered him a trip to the Maldives and a week earlier a woman standing behind him in the queue at the butcher wanted to give him his youngest daughter as a wife. It was usually enough for such people when he just smiled and exchanged a few words with them. Unfortunately there were other, more brazen, and they were trying to enter his personal life. Among other things such people were one of the main reasons why he, Ron and Hermione decided to move to the muggle part of the capital. Here, at least for now, no one got his address, and with a little effort he could freely move around. Of course this resulted in a number of drawbacks - he needed to drink polyjuice potion when he wanted to go to the all-nigh shop, he had to shop in different parts of the city and he couldn't use magic too loudly, because there was still a chance that one of the neighbors was a healer at St. Mungo's or a Ministry's official. Although Harry did his best, several times he happened to meet witches and wizards who thought that they might take him half a day, talking about very _odd_ but not very _interesting_ things like conspiracy theories according to which he was Dumbledore's son or laments about the state of the Ministry of Magic (part of the public was seeing him as the next minister and at first he even enjoyed the thought, but then it started to scare him), stories about their participation in the Battle of Hogwarts, which annoyed him probably the most, because he saw who fought and who did not. There were also people - Harry discovered it with some joy in fact - that weren't pleased with his victory and Voldemort's death. They dind't usually tout him personally, but they kept sending threatening letters with poisons and curses and as they didn't know his address, all the owls were guided to the Burrow. After Mr. Weasley burned his hands three times after hardly opening the envelope, and tasted poisoned lemon cake for once, it was decided that all correspondence for Mr. Potter has to go through strict control in the Ministry of Magic first.

And now that affair with school. Well, maybe he has felt some sentiment at the thought of returning to Hogwarts, but he was expecting the worst. At heart he was glad to have the opportunity to see the school again - walk through the corridors and meadows where he met so many amazing adventures and maybe even participate in Quidditch matches. On the other hand, he couldn't get rid of the fear of an avalanche of questions, whispers and stares. Sure, he survived it all already so many times that he should have get used to it, right? He was a star nearly since the day he was born, then by all school years, in good and bad times, there were so many unbelievable stories and gossips people were telling about him (in this category Rita Skeeter was the winner for sure).

To avoid the media buzz around him (as if such a thing could have even happened), just after the war he gave an interview for __The Quibbler_ _ \- he felt an uncontrollable aversion for __The Daily Prophet_ _ even now - and responded to questions and complaints, publicly stand for the innocence of Draco Malfoy and his mother (he didn't feel any pity for Lucius though) and dispelled doubts. Of course he kept for himself the fact that he was Voldemort's horcrux and that in the meantime he died and talked to equally dead Albus Dumbledore. Sometimes he was almost beginning to regret that he wasn't living in this mysterious reality in which probably no one cared what toothpaste he is using or what he's eating for breakfast.

But his insistent efforts to remain a private person came to nothing and everything went even worse three weeks ago, when he was sipping his morning coffee and browsing the latest issue of __Transfiguration today_ _ _._ An unknown owl flew in and landed in front of him, obviously waiting for something. He raised his eyebrow, because he wasn't expecting any letters. In addition the owl was strange - it was not one that belonged to the Weasley's family or to one of his friends. Conclusion? Either it was something from the Ministry of Magic or someone has found his secret address. In the end Harry sighed and untied three letters. __Three_ _ _letters_. It has brought to his mind some vague memory of sitting at another table and eating a different breakfast, but with a similar envelope in his hands.

"It's for me?", he said out loud, but the owl was already gone.

In this situation he could only put back the cooling cup of coffee and take a closer look at the parcel.

Just as he had feared, he saw his own name only on one of the envelopes - the second was for Hermione, the third - for Ron. They were all adorned with an emblem of an educational institution that was in possesion of his current adress and that institution was Hogwarts.

"Nooo...", he groaned, trying at all costs to wake up from this terrible nightmare.

"What happened?" Hermione entered the kitchen with a towel on her head.

Harry wordlessly pointed at the envelope.

"Mail at that hour? From whom?" She grabbed her parchment with surprise. "For me too? But no one knows this address... Wait, that's impossible!" Hermione held her breath, breaking the seal and reading the letter extremely fast.

Harry did the same thing in a slightly less dramatic way - he was almost sure what he will learn from reading the letter.

"Oh, well..." Hermione probably already finished. "I think we shouldn't be surprised, we made no official resignation. Fred and George had to sign some papers after their escape..."

"Freeagooor?" Ron also decided to visit the kitchen, yawning as his eyes settled on the last sealed envelope. "Oh, it's for me?"

He grabbed the letter without waiting for an answer and - pulling the milk out of the fridge at the same time - read it.

"What the hell?!" Just like Harry thought Ron's reaction was rather violent. "We have to go back to school? But... That's __absurd_ _!"

"Have you learned a new word, Ron?" asked Hermione, taking the carton of milk from her boyfriend.

"What? I... But that's not the point! Why should we go back? Somehow I survived without NEWTs! And Hermione! You know how it will affect..." Suddenly he paused, as if he only has realized that Harry Potter aka Saviour of the Wizarding World was sitting in the kitchen as well.

"Come on Ron, they won't eat me, will they?" Harry tried to turn the situation into a joke, but in fact he would most willingly buy a ticket to Peru, where he can spend the rest of his life plaiting baskets.

Therefore, without further discussion on the same day they chose subjects that they were going to take and then ordered the necessary books and potions ingredients, pens, bottles of ink and new school robes (for some unknown reason the ones they were using in their sixth year were not only too small, but also torn and dirty). The boys could not resist buying two sets of brooms' accessories. Hermione noticed with surprise that she was announced the Head Girl - Ron accepted his own promotion with no surprise at all. Harry, who was never a prefect (for which he thanked the heavens and Dumbledore now), found his old Gryffindor team captain's badge in the envelope.

All packed and ready on the first of September the friends got into Ron's car (he got a driver's license at a breakneck pace, which amazed Hermione and amused Harry, because he could only guess what methods of persuasion Ronald Weasley used on the Muggle examiner to conceive him in the matter of his driving skills).

Although The Chosen One feared the return to school, everything seemed to go pretty good so far. Well, __almost_ _ everything.

"No, no, no, we could have taken the subway" Hermione nervously whispered when once again they were standing on the red light whilst the clock relentlessly counted down time to the departure of the train.

"Subway?" Ron was impatiently tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. "How do you imagine our subway ride with the trunks? Not to mention your cat and mine and Harry's owls?"

__Just like in the good old days_ _ , Harry thought, listening to the quarrel. Of course he didn't share this observation out loud, because he would risk an attack from irritated Weasley and Granger.

"Finally" Ron pushed gas as soon as the lights changed color. "We're not far off."

Indeed, after a few minutes they stood on the parking in front of the King's Cross station and they put out luggage in a hurry. The car was meant to be picked up in the afternoon by Mr. Weasley, who had a second key, but Ron checked three times if he has locked the door properly.

"We need to run" said Harry looking at his watch. "We've got seven minutes."

His friends nodded and soon the three of them ran toward Platform 9 and 3/4, not paying much attention to passers-by.

"Four minutes!" Harry shouted to Hermione who was running beside him. Ron has beaten them and was almost at the hidden passage. "Go ahead!"

__Perhaps I''ll be lucky enough and won't be there on time_ _ , he thought, hoping that he can miss the feast.

"Stay right behind me" said Hermione, running toward the railing.

"Of course!" And when Hermione vanished, he followed.

When Harry was nearly at the hidden passage, he suddenly remembered that one time when he couldn't get to Platform 9 and 3/4. At this point he would gave a lot for such a thing to happen again.

But nothing happened and after a moment he stood before the Hogwarts Express shrouded in clouds of steam.

The train was _starting_.

"So The Chosen One can't even jump to a moving train?" He sighed theatrically and grabbed the trunk and Ludolf's cage as he passed by parents waving to their children.

"But how can I do it with all this baggage?" Harry wondered aloud and then he remembered the rather obvious fact - he was a wizard after all and the wand he carried in his pocket could prove to be quite useful right now. "Perhaps I should show some nonverbal magic in front of the first years?" He smiled, imagining the surprised faces of kids stuck to windows and wondering aloud whether it really is _that_ Harry Potter.

"One... and two" he said, waving his wand, and then at the last minute he grabbed the train doors and jumped in.

"That's what you call a grand entrance, am I righ?" Harry asked, tucking his wand and brushing hair from his face. He was sure he just won tomorrow's __Prophet's_ _ cover.

"Indeed, Mr. Potter" said someone standing next to him and Harry could hear in his head something that sounded strangely similar to a fire alarm signal.

He looked up, because he didn't believe his own ears.

And then he did the only thing that seemed to fit the situation - he passed out.

But before Harry closed his eyes he saw once more the face of a person he was sure to see never again. Here he was standing in front of Tom Marvolo Riddle, known also as Lord Voldemort. Dead for three months.

 


	2. The Phantom

"You know, he looks a bit strange..."

"Well, maybe you're right, Leo... Probably because of his clothes, they're so..."

"... sloppy?"

"I would rather say that they're _unusual_ , Abraxas. Have you ever seen such a shirt?"

"Certainly not in our manor!"

Harry was listening to that thought-provoking discussion for a few moments with his eyes still closed. Experience has taught him that sometimes it's better to play dead... or at least unconscious.

Though he couldn't see anything, Harry was sure he was in a train - he felt and heard the rattle of rolling wheels. Probably he was lying on the couch in a compartment and a few people were leaning over him. Until this point the reasoning seemed quite logical, though there were still some inexplicable issues...

"Maybe he's American?", someone asked, emphasizing the last word with clear contempt.

"Does any of you remember his name?" Second voice - that one could be certainly described as slightly worried - entered the discussion.

"It was something like... Potter? Harold Potter?"

_Harold?_ Harry felt that he likes this discussion even less with every word. Say what you like, but _every_ wizard knew his name. And that Abraxas... Where had he previously heard that name, uttered in a strangely similar tone?

There were several possibilities. The first that came to his mind was a collective amnesia of the wizarding community. They have all forgotten who he was, what was his name and what did he look like and it seemed to him such a funny idae that he barely resisted laughing out loud. He was unable to control the slight grimace though and it didn't escape his companions' attention.

"I think he moved a little!" The owner of the anxious voice let out a strangled cry. Harry had the impression that this guy was a bit younger than the others.

"You must have imagined it."

_Yes, leave me alone for a moment. I have to think_ , Harry thought, considering the second option - his whole life has been an illusion or a dream, his name wasn't Harry Potter, he wasn't a wizard, he didn't fight with any Lord Voldemort, he had no scar on his forehead...

"Look, he has something here", somebody whispered curiously and unceremoniously touched the scar.

"Oh!"

"Maybe he was dueling someone?"

"Do you think he's good in it?"

_I'm pretty good_ , Harry commented internally and the second vision was overthrown. His trademark was still where it should be, and if the passengers were talking about duels with such interest, he could be pretty sure that they were on their way to Hogwarts.

So maybe he has just _imagined_ that whole scene with Voldemort?

"Tom said...", the younger boy started, but then something cut the air with a whistle and that something sounded suspiciously familiar to a heavy book landing on someone's head. "Hey, that hurt!"

"You should be glad he's not here, because it would have hurt much more," said someone else in a serious tone. "You know he doesn't like when we use that name."

_I knew only one man who disliked his own name so much_ , Harry thought, starting to get seriously worried about his own situation. He was not afraid, not _yet_ , but he was slowly overwhelmed by a feeling of being enclosed in a trap. Because if these people knew _that_ Tom, then it wasn't a particularly pleasant situation. And if Abraxas was the grandfather of one blonde Slytherin, the conclusion could be only one.

"Well, well, Rufus, we all already know that you are so _faultless_." A new, nonchalant voice joined the conversation. "What did he say?"

"That Harold's in shock! Do you think he'll be ok?"

_Harry. And yes, I'm in shock. Not every day you meet bloody indestructible Lord Voldemort. And not every day you have the opportunity to listen to a discussion of people who should be dead for some time._

"Isn't it strange that he brought him here? I don't think that he would bother so much for any of us and that guy is a complete stranger..."

_Jealous?_

"Jealous?", someone uttered Harry's thought aloud and he couldn't avoid giggling.

Of course silence fell immediately.

"You laughed at me, Black!"

" _I!?_ He laughed!"

"You blame it on the unconscious? Where is your ancestral honor, eh? I'd recognize your fatuous laugh everywhere!"

"Don't mess with my family!"

"Now, now, calm down, unless you do want to get detention before the feast..."

"There are no teachers in the train, Malfoy, don't play so cool!"

"Don't loose your temper so easily, Nott. Your family owes _my_ father enormously many acres near the Goblin's Hill!"

"What?! _Everyone_ knows that your grandfather _lost_ _them_ in cards in 1876!"

"How dare you say that about my ancestors!"

"Stop it, you'll drop the trunks right on our heads!"

"Get out of my way, Black, unless you want to know the infamous Malfoy's anger!"

"I assure you that when we, the Blacks, has been able to conjure selfcleaning dishes, your great-grandparents didn't know how to use cutlery."

"What?!"

"Well said, show him he's no aristocracy!"

"Oh, Avery, at that time your ancestors were probably still living in caves."

"Black, do you really want me to demonstrate my Neanderthal strength on your filthy face?"

"I love to look at your arguments, my dears, you are like an old married couple."

"Malfoy, I'll give you Avery, if you want him so badly."

"That's not what I meant!"

"Really? Apparently Orion saw you looking into the bathroom when..."

"One more word, Nott, and you will be able to smell the flowers of Goblin's Hill from the bottom."

"Don't want to tell us who you were looking at? It's better to confess now!"

"Take your dirty hands off me, Black!"

"Shut up finally, you'll wake up Harold!"

"Harry," he said aloud before he realized what he was doing.

And when he was about to open his eyes to face the inevitable future (or perhaps past?), he heard his name, his _real_ name, as if someone was calling him from a huge distance, somewhere... on the back of his head? He couldn't be sure, but he thought that the voice was familiar. And it was becoming louder and louder, as if he slowly floated to the surface of a lake and in a moment, just in a moment was to emerge on the other side. He was feeling just so - as if he was drifting in a heavy, dark water. The rattling of the wheels disappeared somehow and his head became suspiciously light. The voice was now coming from somewhere up above and Harry wasn't really sure what to think about all this. Besides, thinking has become very difficult, because he imagined that he was running out of oxygen and he used all the power of his will to get closer to the source of the voice, and - perhaps - to the surface of water. He held out his hand...

... and waved helplessly, opening his eyes, because someone was shaking him with determination.

"Wake up finally, man!" Apparently Ron was trying to turn his guts upside down.

"Not so hard, you'll hurt him!" Hermione was clearly worried. Harry guessed that he heard her voice before.

"Wrackspurts mixed up in his head for sure," said Luna carelessly.

"And what if he doesn't wake up?" Ginny gave a pessimistic note.

"We have to find those guys that hurt him!", said Neville in a determined tone.

"But I think there's nothing seriously wrong with him?"

"I'm not sure, Ginny, there are still a lot of people that would like to see Harry's death."

"For example Rotfang conspiracy."

"We'll have to tell Professor McGonagall."

"Do you think that any student would..."

"Oh, I think he woke up." Luna drew the attention of all present to The Chosen One lying on the floor.

"Harry!" Hermione rushed to him, hugging him tightly. "Are you all right?"

"Who did this to you?"

"Don't worry, we'll get them soon!"

"Who was it?"

Harry suspected that confessing that he saw Voldemort on the train is not the best idea. After all he could be wrong. He could only imagine that he has seen him.  
No... Somehow he couldn't believe it.

"Harry?" Ginny looked at him with obvious concern. "What happened? You don't look well..."

He was about to say that it's nothing - that he just fell over during a spectacular leap, but when he was about to open his mouth, he felt pain - the kind of pain that he hasn't felt for several months.

Scar. His scar _hurt_.

It was not a terrible pain, not like usual. He felt a dull throb, like an unpleasant reminder.

Harry instinctively put his hand to his forehead.

"Harry, is your..." Hermione began, but she was interrupted:

"It's nothing, Hermione, I just hit my head when I jumped on the train."

His friends exchanged glances quickly, as if to consider whether they should believe in this story.

"So you were not attacked?"

It seemed to him that he heard some disappointment in Neville's voice.

"Stop it already, you weren't really thinking that there's a potential murderer at every corner, were you?" He wanted this remark to sound like a joke, but his friends said nothing.

At last Luna broke the silence with her dreamy voice:

"I've heard that this year the school will be protected by Heliopaths."

"Heliopaths?" Neville asked curiously and Harry knew that he will avoid futher discussion for the rest of the way to the castle.

...

Whispers. Looks. Fingers pointing at him. Harry had to admit that he had expected all of these and he wasn't disappointed. Younger students looked at him with a mixture of admiration, concern and fear and he thought that he won't have any problem with them - he can give away a few autographs, take some pictures and it'll be over. Students who had seen him before also directed their eyes at him, but they were different - they were insolent. Of course it didn't refered to all of the student - at the gate of the castle he came across a group of Hufflepuffs - Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones welcomed him as a friend - and at the Gryffindor table, as he expected, he could count on the undying support. The other students, mostly Slytherins - why wasn't it surprising? - were staring at him without enthusiasm, as if they were trying to say "What do you all see in him?", some seemed unhealthy interested in him on the other hand. The latter bothered him the most - why couldn't people finally give him just a little bit of peace? Maybe he should separate one day - let's say Saturday – for fanmeetings, so that he can feel some freedom on other days of the week?

Harry tried not to think about it or at least think as little as possible, trying not to spoil the whole pleasure of returning to school. After all this place was his home for so many years - the first and truest home he ever had. Somewhere between one thought and another he saw in his head a picture of another boy who felt the same way, but he quickly threw it away and helped himself to some jelly with fruits.

When the feast was already coming to an end and the prefects took care of the first year students, someone grabbed Harry from behind. He was about to pull out his wand when he saw Minerva McGonagall, the new headmistress.

"We have to talk for a moment," she said, not even waiting for Harry's approval and pulled him to the side door.

He was in the same room in his fourth grade, when he had to accept that there was a fourth participant in the Triwizard Tournament. It seemed so far away - Cedric Diggory was still alive and Fleur didn't know Bill Weasley yet! In retrospect events of that year were as if hidden in mist.

"Is there something wrong, Professor?" Harry asked politely, though he hoped that the interview will end soon, so that he can easily go to bed.

"I'm supposed to ask you this question," said McGonagall, looking at Harry sternly. "Why didn't you report to me immediately that you fainted on the train? I should be glad that Miss Granger is your friend, otherwise I'd probably never know about that incident."

"But nothing happened," Harry sighed. It could be expected that Hermione won't leave the matter run its own course.

"Let me be the judge. I've heard that your scar hurt again?"

"What?" He was truly surprised. "I didn't say anything about it."

"Miss Granger maintains that after waking up you've raised your hand to your forehead," said the headmistress in a sedate voice.

"I... I banged my head. I was almost late for the train and when I jumped into the open door I hit my head." He tried to smile, but the whole story was perhaps not too convincing.

"Well, if you say so... " It seemed that McGonagall believed him nonetheless. At least for now. "You can go to the dormitory. Just remember, Potter - I'm on your side. Nothing has changed in this case."

"Thank you, Professor."

...

When we finally arrived to the tower, avoiding all unnecessary meetings with students, he didn't find Ron and Hermione in the common room. They were waiting for him in the boys' dormitory, discreetly left by all the other roommates.

Hermione probably felt a little guilty seeing Harry's face as she said:

"You know I had to..."

The boy ignored that remark. He really didn't want to talk about everything that happened.

"You really looked bad," Ron said, trying to placate him.

"We're just worried about you," Hermione added. "So little time has passed..."

"I saw Voldemort on the train," said Harry loudly and clearly, watching his friends' reaction.

To his surprise no one fell off the chair, no one stopped breathing, dropped glasses or showed surprise in another way.

"Well, I expected that something like this could happen," Hermione said quietly, staring at Harry with concern. "You were so quiet after all that happened, too quiet. Such things are affecting people in the most unexpected moments, Harry."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, turning his head to one side, as if Hermione was talking to him in Chinese and he couldn't really understand it.

"You know, when I saw that you're touching your scar, I thought it might be something like a phantom pain. It occurs when an injured person..."

"I know what a phantom pain is, Hermione," Harry interrupted her with evident exasperation. Apparently they wanted to make him look insane.

"No need to get upset right away." The girl was probably a little sad. "I just want to say that it's no wonder that you see and feel things that are not there. In your state..."

"In my state?!" Harry burst out. He was tired of that conversation. "Do you think I'm an idiot, Hermione? What's next? Maybe you'll put me in St. Mungo? Maybe you think I'm a madman?"

Hermione got up without a word and quickly left the room, hiding her face in hands. Ron ran behind her, casting a look full of reproach.

_It was exaggerated,_ said a voice in Harry's head.

"No, it wasn't," he answered and threw himself on the bed, trying to sleep.

Some time later he heard his friends return to the room. They talked, laughed and fooled around. As if everything was as before.

But for Harry nothing was as before.

The light went out and Harry thought everyone had gone to bed, but he still was throwing himself from side to side, unable to shake off the feeling that something was wrong. Phantom pain? It seemed to him that it wasn't a proper term for a scar given with a Killing Curse. And he wasn't crazy. Probably. Who normal would think that he met Voldemort, followed by a whole bunch of dead people? But after all it was only his imagination, wasn't it?

"I can't sleep," he said aloud, but no one answered.

Harry stood up and pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of his trunk. He had to go somewhere. He would also like to talk to someone, but in that moment he realized the undeniable fact - he didn't have anyone to share his problems with. Sirius was dead, just like Dumbledore. Even Snape seemed to him a relevant trustee at the moment, but – what a surprise - he didn't really have a chance to talk to him right now.

He left the Gryffindor tower and walked alone through a long, empty corridor with the moon brightening his way.

Suddenly he stopped and held his breath.

Someone was watching him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments, you are way too sweet!


	3. Night of the Living Dead

Someone was watching him, he was absolutely sure. 

But who would wander around the castle at this hour? It seemed Harry didn't get rid of the tendency to see dark forces everywhere, because he held his breath to remain unnoticed...

Wait. At the moment no one could _notice_ him. He was absolutely invisible, but for a moment he has forgotten about it. So where did this strange certainty that someone was watching him come from?

Harry turned around as quietly as he could and threw a watchful gaze across the hall. As he had expected - no one was there. He was all alone. But that feeling again... Was he imagining it? Perhaps Hermione was right and events from the past few months (or rather the events of his whole past _life_ ) ultimately led his already exhausted brain to a breakdown? Could he really be _crazy_ ? It would explain a lot. He had to admit that the more time has gone between seeing Voldemort at the train and hearing Draco's grandfather talk to some other long gone people, all this seemed to him not only distant and unreal, but also quite silly. How could he believe even for a while that he actually saw Tom Riddle? One might think that he had some _obssesion_. 

Harry didn't notice when he began to go ahead in an unspecified direction again. He hadn't had a chance to roam around with such impunity for a long time, and besides, London wasn't as exciting as Hogwarts. Sleeping portraits, moonlight illuminating the hallways - Harry wandered through this amazing world peacefully - the only world he wanted to belong to and the only one that recently depressed him so much. He should apologize to Hermione before breakfast; there was no point in staying in anger. He knew his friend long enough to know that she only wanted his good. And he, well... Sometimes he couldn't appreciate it.

Once again, Harry thought about not being able to talk with somebody who would understand him, when he suddenly heard something behind him.

He stopped. This time he was sure that he didn't _imagine_ anything. It wasn't a _feeling_ of hearing something.

At first glance the corridor was completely empty. However it could be possible that something or someone was lurking in the dark watching him.

Without thinking too long (what could possibly go wrong, after all?) Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak down and held out his wand. He just had to know if it was really happening, or if he was only _thinking_ it was happening.

For a moment he couldn't shake off the feeling that nothing was going on, that it actually had been only a delusion, but then he heard someone's voice, unnaturally loud in the nearly empty hallway:

“There you are, Harry! Everyone's looking for you!”

Where did he hear this voice before? He somehow knew this preoccupied tone...

“We've been waiting for an hour, but you still weren't coming back and we started to worry about you. Well, I decided that I will look around here, but you dissappeared so suddenly... Harry, is there something wrong? You're awfully pale...”

Harry didn't answer - he wasn't able to do it. He felt a horror so great that he wanted to scream as loud as he could, but his voice was caught in his throat, and now it seemed to him that if something isn't done soon, this cry will burn him from inside. He had never felt such a paralyzing fear. Even during the first year, when he saw Voldemort's face at the back of Quirrell's head. Even at the second year standing face to face with the blinded basilisk. Even his last encounter with the Dark Lord seemed something childish now, because it was at least reasonably _explainable_. And how could he explain that once again within a few hours he was in presence of someone who was dead for some time now?

In front of him stood no one other than Colin Creevey, gloriously buried three months ago.

“Harry? Are you okay?” Colin asked him again and Harry was sure Colin is neither a ghost nor a nightmare. “Maybe I should call someone for help?”

Call someone? Others could see Colin too? Or maybe again only Harry Potter and his twisted mind had the honor of talking with the dead?

“You know, we're sitting not far from here, everyone is waiting in the living room of our new teacher... Some have wondered if you forgot about the meeting, but since you're here, I think they were wrong, weren't they? Of course I never doubted you!” Harry couldn't believe it actually sounded like something Colin would say; as if he just walked out of the Room of Requirement before the last battle. “It's a pity that I left the camera! Back there everyone will want to talk to you, and I wanted to tale a few pictures, you know, for the newspapers. They printed my photos from the Tenth Congress of Acromnatula's Lovers in _The Daily_ _Prophet_ , can you imagine? And if I send them your portrait, they'll be so surpised! Do you think you can agree? _The_ _Prophet_ hunts for every new photo of you... Speaking about it, we better go!” Colin grabbed Harry's sleeve with less reverence than it might be heard in his speech and dragged him along the corridor.

Harry didn't know how it happened, that he wandered from the seventh floor to the third – he was absolutely sure he was still somewhere around Gryffindor's common room. But it seemed that once again he was significantly wrong.

_His hand is warm_ , Harry thought frantically, still unable to speak. _Merlin, what's wrong with me? Could I really hit my head and went completely crazy? Or maybe my nerves couldn't stand this endless tension in the end? I need someone to talk to, even Hermione will do... It seems that only she noticed that something was wrong with me..._  

Colin now led him up the stairs, as if they were to return to the tower on the seventh floor. Harry was understanding less and less from this - after all, he just came out of his bedroom and everything was quite normal, or at least it seemed do. How then did he find himself in the middle of this situation?

_I'm scared, really scared. When Voldemort was still alive, at least I knew what was going on and what is expected of me. And now? Why's Colin here? After he died, I saw his dead body, and then we all went to the funeral. His mother even gave me that terrible camera, which he so often assaulted me with. Why are we wandering around these halls together now, if one of us is dead?_

_Unless I'm dead too._

The thought struck him suddenly, and although initially Harry accepted it with horror, after a while he felt some relief. It would be at least a bit _logical_...

Colin was talking all the time, but now he fell silent, so Harry looked around and found out that they were standing in front of an unknown door on the seventh floor. They were close to the secret entrance to the Gryffindor common room, so he was quite surprised that he had never seen that door. Of course they could be enchanted or protected in some special way from unwanted glances, but still he felt a bit uncomfortable.

“Toujour pour,” Colin said, before Harry could ask what they were waiting for and what's behind the door.

The handle jumped, clicked and revealed a brightly lit room. Harry stepped into it pulled by Creevey and at the same time he wondered where did he hear that strange password before. He didn't know much French and he never lamented over it too much, but he would bet that someone close to him said this words once in a tone of resentment and contempt. Who was it? And when? He had a distinct impression that this memory should be extremaly important to him, but the past seemed to be covered in a strange mist at the moment and it didn't help him with locating the sought thread.

_Toujour pour._

Why couldn't he remember?

Damn, it was all like an unhealthy nightmare... What next? He'll forget his own name?

“Harry!” he heard someone pronounce his name and tried to find the source of the voice.

Firstly he noticed that Colin has already released his sleeve and was going through a cabinet in the corner now, looking for something in it fiercely. Next to him was Luna Lovegood with something looking strangely like a dittany wreath on her head. The Ravenclaw girl didn't seem in the least surprised by Colin's presence, just the contrary - she devoted very little attention to him, because she was busy with a discussion with some unknown wizard in blood-red robes.

The room itself was surprisingly large and cluttered, as if someone was trying to fit in all their possessions in a limited space. It gave a little quirky effect, because on one wall there was a poster of Montrose Magpies and on the other one a decked tapestry depicting the uprising of goblins. At the center of the room stood a low bench at the moment pledged with platters and a pitcher with a slightly silvery drink, and around it on sofas and chairs sat people... _Dead_ people.

Harry could barely stand on his feet, but he quickly regained his composure and leaned against the wall, scolding himself mentally - fainting twice a day was a little too much even for him!

Once again, he looked up and figured out who was talking to him and why he could recognize the password.

Sirius. His godfather. His _deceased_ godfather, though at the moment it didn't seem the _strangest_.

Sirius sat right next to Cedric Diggory. What was _he_ doing here? Aside from the obvious fact of his death, Harry couldn't explain in any way what connected Cedric with the whole company present in the room. Cedric has just treated himself to the mincemeat and spoke with Neville Longbottom like good friends.

Fortunately, the other side of the table was occupied by Ron and Hermione and Harry felt an uncontrolled surge of joy at their sight. They were here too, so he wasn't imagining it after all! It seemed logical that his friends were real, and so Sirius, Colin and Cedric had to be too!

He would be happy to devote a moment to enjoy this view, because it confirmed his good mental health, but someone coughed behind his back.

“What?...” Harry started, turning away. “Oh, Fred? Nice to see you,” he said with a smile, just a little bit surprised that these words have escaped his mouth so smoothly. _It's probably the practice I've got in interdimensional talks so far._

“Nice?” George laughed, standing next to his brother. “But you saw him two hours ago!”

“George, I know you're jealous because Harry likes me more than you,” Fred said, passing Harry and sitting down next to Sirius.

“Well, he said it, because he didn't want you to feel sad that he likes _me_ more,” replied George, pouring some silvery drink into a high glass.

Fred was probably going to continue the little quarrel, but Harry temporarily disconnected himself from the conversation, trying to remember how could he forget that he met the twins two hours ago? He was lying in his bed then. He wasn't sleeping, so he couldn't be sleepwalking, he was fully aware of it. Merlin, and just a moment ago it seemed to him that the whole situation became slightly more understandable!

However, the situation couldn't be _undestandable_. After the initial shock he started to come back to his sense again, just like on the train. How did it happen that the dead were again among the living? Did someone revive them? If so – how they did it? And for what purpose? And if these people were not alive, why Ron, Hermione, George, Luna, Neville and the stranger didn't seem surprised? Why were they behaving so normally? The presence of the dead didn't leave any impression on them - they were all quite relaxed and cheerful. They even arranged some kind of a party here... Right, Colin said they were waiting for him. Where was he and why didn't he come? Why didn't he know he was invited? What else did Colin say? They were all worried... because he suddenly disappeared.

It was obvious! Colin said something about a new teacher and he certainly meant Sirius. Apparently at this other Hogwarts Sirius was not only innocent – honestly, he looked like he never went to Azkaban – but he probably was widely respected, because someone made him a teacher and even head of the Gryffindor house.

“But what about Professor McGonagall?” Harry asked aloud, forgetting that everyone can hear it.

“Minerva?” Sirius laughed joyfully. “She's feeling better then ever! In the morning she sent me an owl from Cornwall, where she intends to spend the rest of her days!”

“I hope one day we can persuade her to agree to participate in the works of the International Confederation of Wizards,” Hermione interrupted. “I'm surprised she didn't accept the nomination...”

“I think there is still some bad blood between her and the Ministry. They treated Dumbledore rather harshly during our fifth year,” Neville said.

“And on the seventh they denied her the title of the Great Cat Magician,” Luna added in her usual carefree tone, as Hermione winced slightly, Ron spat out his punch, and Sirius barely restrained his laughter.

“What's important, thanks to the departure of Professor McGonagall there was a free spot for a new Transfiguration teacher.” Apparently Hermione wanted to change the subject quickly. “Just think about it! A year ago it seemed to us that only Harry is lucky enough to come back here!”

After these words, Harry shook himself out of his reverie. He almost let him believe in everything that was said. What was he previously thinking about? Ah, yes! Sirius was now the head of the house, it was pretty obvious. But what about the rest? McGonagall retired... Did Hermione take her place as the Transfiguration teacher? Harry was sure that his friend could teach any subject. And Ron? Neville? Cedric didn't really fit in his vision and Luna and her friend didn't even look like people who could be involved in the education process. What about Colin then? Well... Could he be working for The Daily Prophet? Wait, but it would mean that everyone had finished school some time ago! What did Hermione say? Only he was lucky enough? No, it wasn't possible... He couldn't be a teacher. Who would be so irresponsible and entrust him with such a job? Maybe he was just Hogwarts gatekeeper? It would make more sense...

But, if he was an actual teacher, what subject could he be teaching?

Stop. That was not the case. He should be rather thinking what year is was and how he jumped through at least several years. How could he teach anyone, if he didn't even remember taking his NEWTs?

Harry put his hand to his forehead; so much thinking was giving him a headache.

After a moment he realized that the room was now strangely silent.

“Harry, it's not your...” Hermione began, looking at him with some anxiety. “Maybe you should sit down?”

“And you should get something to drink, mate,” Ron added. “You're awfully pale.”

“You don't think it's...” Sirius glanced at Hermione, as if expecting confirmation from her.

“That it's _what_?” Harry asked loudly. He had had enough of this strange exchange of views, in which he was apparently the main theme.

For a moment no one spoke. Harry had the impression that everyone was looking at him with a mixture of pity and fear, as if he was a vector of some incurable, fatal disease. In the end, Hermione spoke:

“Harry, you don't think he's _here_ , right?”

“You said that the scar doesn't hurt you anymore,” Ron added quickly, trying to sound carefree.

“My scar?” Harry asked, feeling somehow stupid. Why would it hurt? After all Voldemort was...

No... No, that was _impossible_. Voldemort was _dead_! He had killed him, and he certainly destroyed all horcruxes befoehand! He even got _killed_ fot it, it was all over!

But if Sirius was alive, why Voldemort couldn't? Why only good people, those who were close to him or whom Harry pitied? It would be more logical if the Dark Lord was alive too, and with him all his precious followers - Bellatrix Lestrange, Barty Crouch Jr. and the whole crowd of Death Eaters.

Harry felt a cold shiver. _No, no, no_ , he was repeating constantly in his head, trying to calm down. He had to remain calm or he wouldn't be able to understand what was happening.

“Does it really hurt you?” Ron asked. “Maybe we should go to the hospital wing?”

“I told you we should have immediately brought him there!” Hermione's voice sounded slightly paniced. “We should have gone there after the feast! We've all seen Harry wasn't fine!”

“Take it easy, Hermione, nothing had happened yet,” Cedric Diggory said, as if Hermione was his close friend. “How could we know that there was something wrong with him?”

“I could have guessed!”

“Hermione, I'm fine,” Harry snapped in a serious tone, reminding himself he should smile to let this lie pass more easily - over the last year he practiced it in front of a mirror often enough.

“But after the feast you ran out the Great Hall like a herd of Blast-Ended Skrewts was chasing you,” Ron said. “What happened?

What happened? Unfortunately, Harry couldn't answer that question, because he was absolutely sure he spent the feast with Ron and Hermione about ten years earlier.

“I was a little... sick,” he said finally, trying to sound convincing. “I think it was the juice.”

“The _juice_?” George seemed amused with that excuse.

“You sound like Mad-Eye Moody already!” Fred added, trying to enlarge his right eye with his hand. “Constant vigilance!”

Harry laughed with the others, although he would rather leave this room as soon as possible, maybe taking Hermione with him.

“Truth is I'm a bit tired today,” he said and yawned ostentatiously. “I suppose I should go to bed.”

“Of course, Harry, we will have planty ocassions to celebrate together this year.” Sirius looked at him with concern and Harry felt a strange twinge in his heart. When he saw that look for last time, he was fifteen years old and his life was much simpler despite of everything that was happening. He has his wonderful godfather, and when Sirius was gone, he had his revenge. He had Dumbledore and then Snape behind his back, though he never appreciated it. Above all, however, he had his purpose. Life after Voldemort turned out to be surprisingly difficult.

“By the way, I think Hogwarts has never had such a rejuvenated staff,” Cedric said, looking at his audience with a smile. “It's unbelievable how many of our teachers retired, though we thought they will stay here forever.”

“People cannot last forever, and when they realize that their life is coming to an end, they want to spend it on things that make them happy. We shouldn't be sorrowful because of it.”

“I'm still surprised that Professor McGonagall didn't...”

“Hermione, when you're her age, probably even earlier, you'll have your opportunity to get into the Confederacy.”

Harry wasn't listening to the conversation anymore, for the words about passing reminded him of Voldemort again. The man who conquered death, or rather the man who thought he did. Destroying his own soul for the sake of eternity... Harry had just a vague idea of the pain bound to dividing one's soul into parts, but he felt a chill thinking about it. Why exactly Voldemort wanted to live forever? After all he could live and be successful either as a good wizard or the Dark Lord. Regardless of which path he would choose, he could avoid some of his crimes. Harry couldn't understand why Tom Riddle, the same he met in the Chember of Secrets, so prominent and promising student at Hogwarts, why has he become the terrifying creature he had to kill? Was eternity itself Voldemort's cause? Was the power he wished for not enough? At what point was it decided that this talented boy will become a murderer? Although Harry knew a lot about Voldemort, probably the most one could know about him, he couldn't find an answer. He didn't, he _couldn't_ understand how a man can turn into such a monster. Was he born evil? Was becoming the Dark Lord his fate from the very beginning? He planned eternity, yet he was gone. He failed to win with Harry, but most of all, he failed to win with _time_.

Harry suddenly realized that he didn't win either. Somewhere between dusk and dawn he missed a few years and had no idea how it happened. He never thought much about the passing time, because it seemed he had so many years ahead him, perhaps surrounded by his family, perhaps living alone, but definitely happy. But it seemed that something went wrong. Well, he didn't actually have anything against teaching at Hogwarts, but he had never considered it before - he couldn't imagine himself as a teacher, because this work seemed to him a bit too boring and monotonous. But apparently he had a good reason to take it and that made some sense - he always felt at home here at Hogwarts, he met his friends and enemies here; here he had his first flight and quidditch match, he even kissed here for the first time (the memory of the unfortunate winter evening seemed a bit amusing after all these years). Yes, Hogwarts was the perfect place for him. Well, he had some experience as a teacher - after all he commanded Dumbledore's Army!

Harry felt a slight uneasiness when he realized how his fate was similar to Voldemort's. Both living without family, abandoned in the world of Muggles, only at Hogwarts they found the meaning of life. They even both ran secret groups! Of course they were radically different, but Harry still felt uncomfortable with the idea. Tom Riddle also tried to get a job at Hogwarts, but his candidacy was rejected. Harry was wondering, if getting the job would stop all these terrible things from happening? He sincerely doubted it. Despite his best efforts he couldn't forget the pale face with hollow eyes he saw in Dumbledore's memories. No, when Riddle was asking for the job as a teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts, everything was already decided. Maybe there was a chance before to change the future of the Dark Lord with a bit of a proper approach, but during the evening in headmaster's office it was far too late.

“Harry, what are you doing here?” He heard a worried voice suddenly.

Great, once again he let his thoughts sail away, thinking about the man he killed.

Wait a moment. Why would someone ask him, what was he doing _here_?

Harry looked around.

He was no longer in the brightly lit room with his godfather. Although he was still leaning against a wall, it was cold and strangely wet. Somehow it got so... dark.

“What...” he began, but someone interrupted him:

“Orion, I found it!”

Harry heard a noise coming from the adjacent hallway and soon three bright points emerged from around the corner.

“Where is your wand?” Someone asked and Harry was about to reply that it was still in his pocket, but somebody was quicker than him again:

“I left in the common room... Don't be angry, cousin.”

“It's okay, Alphard, we won't burn you at a stake for it,” said another voice and Harry strangely remembered that the tone reminded him of Draco Malfoy.

_It's some sick deja vu,_ Harry thought with despair, because he slowly began to understand where he was and what was happening. It seemed that he was going to spend the seventh year in another dimension. But why Slytherins took so much interest in his whereabouts?

“Of course Nott isn't able to properly take care even of the simplest thing.” A dark-haired young man grumbled and Harry saw a mysterious resemblance to the recently seen Sirius in him.

“What did you expect from someone like that?” There was no doubt that this rhetorical question was asked by Abraxas Malfoy, who unfortunately died of dragon pox in Harry's time (if there still was a time Harry could call _his_ ).

He didn't recognize the third boy with fair hair, whose eyes expressed immense boredom, which was a counterweight to his loud colleagues.

“I knew we shouldn't have left you alone with Nott...” A boy they called Orion was visibly sorry. “Forgive us, professor Slughorn necessarily wanted to see us in his office.”

“To tell us that we should take care of you,” said Malfoy, grinning, and suddenly he lost all resemblance to his future grandson.

“You know, it's no surprise that you got lost - it took me weeks before I got used to live in the castle,” Alphard said as they walked down a dark corridor in an unspecified direction. “Next time wait for one of us, if you feel a sudden craving for a night walk.”

“Of course you should also keep in mind that such walks are actually _prohibited_.”

“Abraxas, it seemed to me that you're not our prefect.”

“You wanted to say: our Head Boy.”

“You know he'd be furious if he heard you right now?”

“As if he's already not mad enough,” Orion laughed. “I think I never saw him in such a fury.”

“Even Dumbledore never caught him so out of balance... What am I saying, even Slughorn and his stupid chats are nothing compared to this.”

“Right! Harry, it was really amazing!”

“Erm...” Harry felt his heart beat faster. What did he do again?

He didn't have to wait long to know the answer.

“When you walked into the room and looked at him so strangely, I knew it would be a scene...”

“Harry,” said Orion in a changed, cold tone. “What an extraordinary meeting...”

“But why did he say that this meeting is extra...” Alphard began, but the unknown boy slapped him on the head.

“Don't interrupt.”

“Know that in the great house of Slytherin we stand by irrefutable principles,” Orion continued. ”We don't tolerate Mudbloods. We hate fools, but we know how to use them. We have no mercy for those who oppose us.”

“But he didn't say anything like that.”

“You're overdoing it as usual, Orion,” Abraxas sighed theatrically and added: “He just gave Harry a clear point who's in charge.”

“But when you said,” Alphard was now speaking directly to Harry with a merry twinkle in his eyes, “that you only obey your own rules...”

“... and he added that unfortunate "lord"...”

“... and you said there's no need to call you a “lord”...”

“... and you gave him such a brazen look like you knew what you could get for this words...”

“... I really thought he would skin you alive,” ended Orion, standing in front of a perfectly normal piece of the wall.

“Don't tell him that we laughed,” Abraxas said hastily. “I'm still not sure why he didn't kill you on the spot, but he certainly wouldn't be so kind for us.”

“Pure blood,” Alphard whispered, as if he was afraid that someone might hear him in the empty corridor.”

“Make yourself at home, Harry,” added Orion, pushing him gently through the secret passage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe me, translating is hard – I may speak and read in English pretty good now, but writing is so much harder. I hope you're still enjoying this story, even though my language skills may be lacking.  
> Well, I hope you had fun reading, let me know how you liked it!


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